Yo. So my daughter is getting to the age. 12 years old, allegedly, is when it begins. Allegedly. I NEVER said that I’m not a bumbling, loud laughing, doofus dancing, stank singing, twerking, idiotic court jester fool. I’m not going to deny. But, what I will say is that now I am happily capitalizing on this lunacy. It embarrasses my oldest to DEATH, and the more cheesy and asinine, the better.
Listen – I’m not just trying to be cool. I AM the epitome of cool. There’s no way I could possibly be anymore “hip,” funky, “so gangsta cool, you’ll want to drool.” See, that proves it. For example, the other day my niece told my sister in law that hashtags were no longer cool. #ibegtodiffer. It’s amazing that I just happen to know what cool is, and I’m willing to throw it in people’s faces like blackened monkey dung.
So, my daughter likes to text. If it weren’t for texting, I think we would probably go months without hearing each others’ voices. Also, I fancy myself unique. I like to be industrial, a trouble-shooter, revolutionary, a wanna be cool vixen. A word vixen, if you will. So I like to send my daughter texts to make her day, and to remind her that none of her friends will ever be as cool/funny as mommy. And then I was also told that I would not be called mommy anymore. Life is a mystery. Everyone must stand alone. I hear you call my name. and it feels like home. Anyhoo – One day my daughter needed me to promise her something, so I went a step further.
I mean, I don’t get why such animosity was necessary. Sometimes when I’m sitting around thinking to myself that I’ve just absolutely accomplished everything that I could have ever wanted to in life, so what’s possibly left for me to discover in the universe??? It suddenly hits me. I have lots of things left to unearth. I am still learning, and growing, expanding, bloating and smirking.
Flobic. Flobic is the word that I decided on later, by myself without my tween. I don’t need her opinion, her approval, her angst! You can use it in a positive, negative or ambivalent manner. Or you can keep one hand in your pocket while smoking a cigarette.
Here’s another funny moment that I shared with my daughter as she attempted to shirk me off.
Her last word was “Stop.” Why should I? I’m on a roll, and can’t ever stop the flow. Oh, and by the way, don’t ever tell me that a certain word is no longer cool. Unless you want to hear it REPEATEDLY on repeat mode constantly and unabashedly tenfold. Because, I will text you all day long. I don’t care if you’re taking an exam, or are face timing your BFF. You’ll get inundated. It’ll start raining bad puns and stupid selfies and fake promises and shit nonsense.